


Love is Just a Word

by jawnlovesjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, Physical Abuse, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Series 3, Reunion, Romance, With a bit of fluff, alternative series 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnlovesjumpers/pseuds/jawnlovesjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without Sherlock in his life, John finds himself in an abusive relationship. But he isn't convinced that it's abusive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John was not used to this. He was not used to a woman -his girlfriend- yelling at him and throwing whatever she could get her hands on in his direction.  
"You god-awful son of a..." she'd start, followed by a long string of profanities before throwing a book at John.  
He would step out of the way and try to calm her down, but to no avail.  
"Mary, it's okay, it's just..."  
But he would be cut off by another thrown object.

He was not used to this, but he should have been. It happened all the time. Mary was very temperamental, and she had her bad days. 'She's only human,' John would tell himself when she would have one of these fits. 'Everyone gets this way sometimes.'

During one specific fit, she emptied her arsenal of shoes on John. When she had no more shoes, and John had a significant amount of red marks and oncoming bruises, she huffed and stomped off into the kitchen. John followed her, concerned and somewhat frightened- for her sake, of course.  
"Mary-"  
She picked up a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter and threw it at him. He narrowly dodged it and turned in time to see it shatter against the wall behind him, glass and alcohol flying in every direction.  
"Get out!" she screamed. "I don't want to see you....Get out!"  
"Okay, okay," John answered, afraid he had upset her. "I'm leaving." His voice was small and quiet, contrasting Mary's loud screams.  
John grabbed his mobile from the kitchen table and slowly made his way to the front door, facing Mary the entire way. She broke down and began to cry, and John approached her again, but this was met with a negative result.  
"I said leave!"  
"Okay, all right."  
So he left.

John went back home to 221b. He hardly considered it home anymore, since his flatmate was gone and he spent most of his time at Mary's house anyway. But it was times like these, times when Mary would get into her little fits, that John was glad he continued to pay rent on the flat. It was also when he was forced to return to the loneliest place he knew. Ever since That Day -as John referred to it because he refused to speak about what happened on that day- 221b was very lonely. It only brought back memories of his former flatmate, whom he had owed so much to, but would never be able to repay. He preferred not to stay in the flat, but when Mary got this way, it seemed like he had no choice.  
He sat down in a chair and sighed, resting his head in his hands. Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

Mary would always text him after they had a fight, apologizing and asking him to please forgive her. And this time was no different. She texted him with a more profuse apology than what was normal. She also asked him to come home. 'But I am home,' John thought. But he took a cab back to Mary's house anyway.

When he returned, he could see that she had been crying for a long time.  
"Feeling better?" John asked, trying to sound authentic in his concern.  
Mary just nodded her head in response.  
"Good," he answered with a nod. He stood in the doorway for a few moments before walking into the house and taking a seat next to Mary on the couch.  
"I really am sorry, John," she said, sniffling a bit. "I was just having a bad day. Work was stressful, and my parents called, left a nasty voice mail. I was just wearing thin. I'm so sorry."  
The tears began again. She moved closer to John, hiding her face in his shoulder as the tears began to fall.  
"I know," he said, putting his arm around her and patting her back comfortingly. "I know. It'll be all right."


	2. Chapter 2

To say that John was engaged in what he was doing would be an exaggeration. He was sitting in the middle of a nice restaurant -one that his date had chosen- at a table, facing across from Mary. She was babbling on about something that ultimately bored John. He was picking at his food, some unknown dish that Mary had ordered for him. His thoughts eventually drifted elsewhere completely, and he tuned Mary out. But after a few moments, he realised that his table had fallen utterly silent. He looked up from his food and noticed a change in Mary.   
"John?" she asked, her expression hard as stone.  
"What?" John asked slowly, afraid he had done something to somehow offend her.  
"Have you even been listening to me?"  
"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah of course I have," he said haphazardly.  
"No, you haven't," Mary corrected him, looking rather pissed now.  
"I'm sorry, Mary; I've just got a lot on my mind right now."  
"What could be more important than this?" she asked, gesturing over their table, looking genuinely hurt. "I bring you to this brilliant restaurant for a date and you just completely ignore me for something you consider more important?"  
John never remembered saying that he was thinking of more important things; only more interesting ones.  
"Look, I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to offend you or-  
"Well you did." She crossed her arms, and John noticed that she looked like a pouting child. "You can forget about getting anything from me tonight," she said, standing up and causing quite the scene in the quiet restaurant. "And you can go home and stay in that hole in the wall you call your flat, because I don't want to see you at my house."  
John began to protest, but she picked up her glass of champagne and tossed its contents into John's face. Then she pointedly turned around and walked off, mumbling something about how she could not believe what was happening. John sighed as there was a collection of gasps from the other patrons of the restaurant. He picked up his napkin and began wiping his face clean, asking the waiter for the bill.

Another night at the flat. Just what John had been hoping to avoid. Nights alone in the flat were hard. He wasn't sure he could handle another night there. So instead of making his way to the flat, he headed towards Mary's house with the intention of apologising.  
He knocked on her front door timidly, and it took a few moments before there was an answer.  
"Hello?" Mary asked politely before realising who was on the other side. "I thought I told you to go home tonight," she said sourly.  
"You did," John answered quietly, "but I felt guilty, so I thought I'd stop by and apologise.  
"I don't need your apologies," Mary said brusquely, crossing her arms again,.  
"I know you don't, but I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry I wasn't listening. It was my fault and-"  
"I said, I don't need your apologies!" she screamed. What happened next was a blur for John. Mary pulled back her hand and slapped him hard across the face.  
"How dare you come here and mock me?" she screamed. Then the door was slammed shut, and John could feel a stinging on his face, and he could hear Mary stomping away from the door.  
John rubbed his face. All he wanted was to apologise. She was probably just in a bad mood, he thought. After all, she had been going through a lot lately, with her biological father passing away less than a month ago. He told himself that it was just stress, and that she'd be back to herself sooner or later.

That night was spent at the flat anyway. John didn't even bother turning on any lights. He just went straight to the bedroom -the room that used to belong to Sherlock- and changed out of his clothes. He was brushing his teeth when the alert tone on his phone startled him. He spit in the sink before grabbing his phone and opening the message.

[text] I'm sorry I hit you. I still love you, you know. -MM  
[text] I know. -JW  
[text] Can you find it in yourself to forgive me? -MM

John rubbed his face, the memory of her hand running hard across it still fresh and bright in his memory.

[text] Of course I can. -JW  
[text]Thank you. -MM  
[text] I love you. -MM  
[text] John? -MM  
[text] Did I do something wrong? -MM  
[text] Why won't you answer me? -MM  
[text] Fine. -MM  
[text] You son of a bitch. -MM  
[text] I can't believe I ever gave you that second chance. -MM  
[text] What is your problem? -MM  
[text] Don't be a bastard. Come on. -MM  
[text] Fine. Be that way. -MM

When John woke up the next morning, he was greeted with a long list of texts from Mary. They began sweet and innocent, but quickly turned sour and hateful. He had fallen asleep on her, and she obviously was not happy with that. He contemplated whether or not to text her back just yet, given that the last message had been sent just over two hours ago. His judgement got the best of him and he texted her back. After a few texts back and forth, she apologised, like she always did, and John decided to head back to her house once again.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, John stayed at Mary's house. He was afraid that he would mess something up yet again, that he would somehow make Mary angry and she would condemn him back to his flat yet again. But nothing of the sort had happened. Mary suggested that they watch a film or something, and John agreed, wanting to stay in for the night. They were both doing better. Mary had mellowed out, and John had begun to feel less guilty about everything that he had done. So they curled up under a thick blanket in the sitting room. They were silent during the previews, but once the movie started, Mary spoke up. She leaned her head on John's shoulder.

"You know I love you, right?"

"I know," John answered, smiling. He took his left hand and brought it up to play with Mary's hair.

 

They chatted throughout most of the movie, and ended up falling asleep on each other. When they woke up a few hours later, Mary complaining that her neck was hurting, John carried her into her bedroom. They laid in her bed, John's arms wrapped around Mary's waist, and things were going so much better, John thought.

Until the nightmares began.

 

Things were rushing, rushing by much too quickly for the human mind to register. There were loud noises surrounding everything, explosions lighting up the horizon, flashes of bright light that John could not understand. His unconscious body began turning and tossing in bed, subconsciously troubled and afraid. He began mumbling, grunting, tossing around even more aggressively, completely unaware of his actions.

Suddenly, he sat up in the bed with a start, a small yelp escaping his lips. He was sweating, his pulse was racing, and his body was flooded with fear. His breath picked up quickly, and only short, shallow breaths could escape his lungs. He steadied himself with his hands, and fought the tears that were responsively welling up in his eyes. He closed them tightly and took a deep breath, unable to shake the images.

Mary rolled over in bed wit a loud, almost exaggerated, sigh.

"What is going on?" she asked, obviously annoyed at being awoken.

"Nothing. It...it's nothing," John said, his voice shaking.

Mary sat up this time, turning towards John.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice painted with concern.

"Yes," John answered, rather sharply.

"Well go back to bed then, will you? It's nearly three in the morning, and I've got work today. Just try and stay quiet, all right?"

With that, Mary sighed loudly once more, put her head back on her pillow, and turned away from John. He repeated what she did, turning away from her. But John was still shaking, and the tears slowly began escaping his eyes. He grasped a handful of sheets and tightened his fist around it. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, but John was not able to sleep the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mm, this food is delicious, Mrs. Watson," Mary said, taking a sip of wine from the cup in front of her. John's parents had invited Mary and John over to dinner, and they were both delighted to oblige. But now they sat at the oval table with an almost-awkward silence hanging over them.

"Why thank you, Mary," Mrs. Watson responded, smiling brightly. "I worked very hard on it. I do love cooking."

"Oh, I love cooking, too," Mary said, patting her lips with her napkin. "But John never lets me cook at home."

"And why ever not, John?" his mother asked, looking exasperated.

"It's not that I don't like her cooking, it's just-" he began to explain.

"What was it you said the other day, John?" Mary asked rhetorically. "Something along the lines of 'I don't like it when you cook.'"

"That's not what I meant," he said, defending himself. He had said he didn't like when Mary always cooked because he felt like she was taking on too many responsibilities, and that he didn't mind cooking every once in a while, to give her a break. But he had no time to explain that now.

"Then what did you mean?" his mother asked him, crossing her arms. "Not allowing a woman to cook for you is not only unheard of, it's also incredibly rude. I thought we raised you better than that."

 

Tired of arguing, he just accepted his fate. There was no way anyone was going to let him explain. He lowered his head and said he was sorry.

 

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mrs. Watson," Mary said happily. "John's a great boyfriend. Just, sometimes...well, nevermind."

"No, go on, dear," Mr. Watson said, speaking up for the first time. "We want to hear what you have to say about our boy."

"Well, sometimes John decides to go stay at his old flat rather than at my house. And that really upsets me," she admitted, looking at her lap. John could almost see her eyes welling up. "Because I miss him terribly when he goes away like that."

 

John thought of all the times Mary had kicked him out of her house, throwing things at him on his way to the door. And now she was saying that he was the one leaving her, and that she missed him when he was gone. Since when? John wanted to protest, but didn't have time before his mother gasped, as if she were offended, and scolded him yet again.

 

"I know, I'm in the wrong here. I'm so sorry," he said, sounding so sincere. He noticed his mother's face soften a bit at this, and thought he saw Mary shoot him a quick glare before taking another sip of wine, apparently recovered from the heart-wrenching pain that John had caused her.

"Don't get me wrong, I love John," she began again, sounding more solemn this time. "But he does have his mistakes. He's only human, though, I suppose," she said, looking at him with a blank expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother nod her head.

"Well, don't we all have our mistakes, though," Mrs. Watson said, then began telling a story about mistakes that featured her and Mr. Watson when they were dating as teenagers. Mary listened closely, but John had too much on his mind, things much more important to him than a story he'd heard a million times before. What was Mary doing? Turning his own parents against him, it seemed. Well, if he was such a bad person, then he supposed he deserved it. He began making mental notes of what he had done wrong, and how he could fix these things. Mary did not look at him again the rest of dinner, but she wore the expression of a wronged and angry person.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, on the way home, John confronted Mary.

 

"What was that all about then, at dinner?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, apparently confused.

"You know well what I mean. You made me look like an arse in front of my own parents."

"Well let's face it, John," she said bitterly. "Sometimes you just treat me like shit."

 

John wasn't sure if he should be angry or upsets at this. He chose a nice spot in the middle.

 

"Do I?" he asked, trying to sound tough but failing miserably.

"As much as I love you, John, you have your days, just like I do. And sometimes you break me down and hurt me. Not physically, but emotionally." She averted her gaze, looking out the window. John again was unsure of how to respond, so he remained silent. After a few long, dragging moments, he spoke up again.

"I...I didn't know. I'm sorry," he said, dismayed.

"It's alright," she said, facing back to him. She moved closer to him in the back of the cab, so that their knees were touching now. She cupped her hand on his cheek. "Like I said, I still love you. I see all your faults and I love you anyway. That's what couples are supposed to do." She leaned in and kissed him softly.

"You're right," he said as she pulled away. "Thank you."

She gave him a small smile. "You're welcome. You know I'm always here for you."


	5. Chapter 5

Even though they had fought that night, Mary allowed John to stay. As she was getting ready for bed, John began thinking of everything that was going wrong in his life. He was a horrible boyfriend, and his own parents had even disapproved of him. He hadn't been working at the surgery much, and Mary was the main source of income. Mary had so many responsibilities to handle, and John felt like a failure because he was unable to help her with these responsibilities. After all, he was living in her house, under her income, and he was hardly contributing at all.

But before John was able to get into any deeper of thought, Mary popped her head in the kitchen, where John was seated in the dark, and, with a smile, asked, "John, are you coming to bed?" John hopped up, forgetting all that he had been worrying about, and followed Mary into her bedroom.

 

John did not sleep well that night. He was tossing and turning, mumbling in his sleep, haunted by nightmares. But these nightmares were different than the ones he had before. They weren't full of explosions and loud noises and bright lights. They were full of other memories, ones much more recent than his flashbacks of the war. His murmuring and general unrest inevitably woke Mary.

"John?" she asked groggily, trying to wake him. "John, you're talking in your sleep. It's rather annoying."

But John did not wake. Instead, he continued mumbling. Most of it was incoherent, and Mary couldn't make out what he was specifically saying. But then there was one word that Mary did catch.

Sherlock.

She had no idea what it meant, but since John was apparently determined to not wake up, she decided to wait until morning to ask about it.

 

Breakfast came quickly for both Mary and John, since neither of them were able to sleep well. John's murmurings had kept Mary up most of the night, but John had no memory of it. The two of them were sitting at the kitchen table, eating eggs and toast, when Mary decided to bring it up.

"So, John," she said, sighing a bit. "You were talking in your sleep last night."

"Was I?" John asked, uninterested. He took a bite of his toast.

"Yes, and I couldn't make most of it out. But there was one thing that...caught my attention."

"Oh? What was it?" he asked, a bit more intrigued now.

"You said a name, I think," she said. "Sherlock?"

John froze, his cup of tea halfway to his lips. "Oh. Um, yes, it's a name."

"Any idea why you said it in your sleep last night?" she asked.

"No. I, uh...I have no idea."

Mary nodded. "So, who is this Sherlock person?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I'd...rather not talk about it," he answered. He hadn't told Mary anything about Sherlock or the fall, nor did he plan to. He was now determined to separate himself from that life, and talking about it surely wasn't going to help him do that.

"Was it a...previous partner?" Mary asked, trying her best to remain indifferent.

"What? No-"

"It's okay if it was, John. I won't judge you. If you're, you know, gay. Or bi."

"No, I'm not gay," he said firmly, trying his best to keep his voice level. "And I'm not bisexual, either. I promise I'm straight."

"Okay," Mary said, drawing out the word as if she didn't believe him.

"Mary," he said, sitting his cup down on the table. "I'm not gay. I never was gay. Okay?"

"All right," Mary said, her answer more definite this time. "Sorry."

John sighed. "Sherlock....He was just a close friend, that's all."

"If he's so close, why don't you ever talk about him?" she inquired.

"Because...something happened to him. He....But I don't like talking about the past."

"Yes, I've noticed," Mary said under her breath, just loud enough for John to hear her. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

There was a long pause before John answered. "Thank you."

But the small discussion sent so many memories and feelings flooding through John. Mary dropped the conversation after that, but John found it much more difficult to get out of his head. Perhaps he should tell Mary everything that had happened. But he had never told anyone about that, not even his therapist, who had pried. He wasn't sure he could handle talking about it now.

 

After he kissed Mary goodbye, and she left for work, the silence in the house became too much for John to handle. After much deliberation, he made the decision to go back to Baker Street, only for a little bit. Once there, he sat in the dark silence of his empty flat, thinking about everything he and Mary had discussed. Everything that had happened that day, the day of the fall. Everything that he had tried to not think about since that day.

Suddenly, it was as if he could not breathe. He began hyperventilating, and he could feel his arms and legs shaking. He stood up and rapidly made his way to the bathroom. He turned the cold tap on and splashed water over his face until his breathing became normal once more. His hands were still shaking as he dried off his face. But he could feel that his eyes were still wet. Had he been crying? He wasn't sure. He looked in the mirror, but what he saw made him turn around so quickly he became dizzy. He didn't want to look at himself right now, not when he looked like this. It reminded him too much of the time before he met Sherlock, when he was so depressed and pessimistic that he saw no way things could ever get better. But then he met Sherlock, and his life changed. Of course, Sherlock changed John's life again, when he made the decision to jump off the top of that building.

John shook his head, trying to clear away his thoughts. Now was not the time for thoughts such as these. He went back to the sitting room, still shaking, and laid out on the couch, trying to keep his mind clear. He failed at this, and gave in, letting so many thoughts and feelings overwhelm him.


	6. Chapter 6

John had been scolded for going to 221b that night. Mary had come home to find the house empty, and she was not happy about that. But what resulted was one of their lesser fights, one that was resolved quickly with few apologies. John found this odd, considering Mary had told his parents that it just made her so upset when he went to Baker Street. It made no sense.

The next day, Mary had to go away on business. John had been scheduled to work, but Sarah called him and said that they hired a new doctor, and wanted her to work in John's place today instead. So John had the evening to himself. Not wanting to be alone all day, he got together with Harry.

"So, Mum and Dad told me about what happened at dinner last week," she said as they sat down at a table in a small London cafe.

"Really? That's the first thing you say?" John asked. "I don't even get a hello?"

Harry laughed and John found himself joining in, laughing for the first time in weeks.

"I'm glad you wanted to get out today, actually," she said, her face turning serious again. "Because I wanted to talk to you about that."

"About what?" John asked, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip.

"About what happened at Mum and Dad's last week," she said as if it were obvious.

John stopped, looking up at Harry. "You're serious? That was nothing."

"So you're telling me that her demeaning you, her treating you like absolute shit in front of your own parents- that was nothing? You're telling me that things like this happen between you and Mary all the time."

John sighed, and said yes, they did, as a matter of fact, and Harry shook her head, giving him a short "tsk, tsk."

"What?" John asked, his anger slowly rising.

"John, don't you see what's going on here?" Harry asked, leaning forward, her elbows on the table. Mary is obviously not as great as you seem to think she is. I've only ever heard you say great things about her, but her behaviour proves otherwise. It's obvious that it isn't all that great."

"You've never even met her," John said defensively. "How would you know?"

"From what Mum and Dad told me, and from what you revealed just now. Honestly, I can't believe Dad didn't step in and say something to Mary for putting down his favourite son.

"Why would he do that? She wasn't putting me down, she was telling the truth."

"You really don't see it, do you?" Harry asked, shaking her head and leaning back again.

"See what?"

"God, stop asking so many questions and just listen to me. You need to listen to me, okay?" John hesitantly nodded his head. "All right. Mary is abusing you," she said slowly.

John looked surprised. "What? No she isn't," he said, defending her viciously. "She's just been having trouble lately. We all do at times. It's normal."

"What she's doing to you is not normal. It's abusive," Harry said, her voice stern. "I can already tell you that from what little I know about her."

"She is not abusing me," John said again, his voice rising. "Why would you even think that?"

"Are you even listening to me, John? You need to open your eyes." Harry took a deep breath, and when she continued, her voice was barely above a whisper. "If it were up to me, I would find Mary right now and beat the living shit out of her for hurting my brother like she is. But it isn't up to me. It isn't my problem. It's yours. And you need to open your eyes and realise what's going on. Men do get abused by women, you know. It may not be as commonly known, but it happens. And it's happening to you, right now. You just refuse to let yourself see it."

John was silent as he took this all in. Was Harry right? No, of course she wasn't. There was no way she was right. She was just making things up. Surely she wasn't right. Was she?

"What would Sherlock say if he were here today, seeing you let yourself be abused like this?" Harry asked, her voice returned to its normal level.

"I'm not letting myself be abused. I'm NOT being abused," John said. But what Harry said had struck a nerve somewhere deep down inside John. "And it doesn't matter what Sherlock would say if he were here, because he isn't here. He isn't here, and he never will be."

If this had been anyone else, anyone but his only sister, John would have gotten up and walked out of the cafe, not caring if he had caused a scene. But Harry understood him and, as she always said, she understood that in John's case, anger masked pain, and sometimes even fear.

"Oh, John," she said, moving to the seat next to him and giving him a hug. He didn't respond.

"He's not here, Harry," he said, his voice low and quiet.

"I know, I know," Harry said in a comforting tone. She pulled back. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I had no idea you were still so upset over it. I guess I should have known, though."

John wasn't sure what she meant by this, but he didn't care. He was focusing on breathing, focusing on keeping away the panic attacks that were tugging at him.

"He was my best friend, Harry, and how he's gone, and he's never coming back."

"I know," Harry said. "I'm sorry."

 

After John had recovered, they decided to leave the cafe- taking the food they ordered as carry out- and went back to Harry's flat.

"I know you don't want to acknowledge it, John," she began once t hey were eating in front of the telly. "But you need to do something about your relationship with Mary.

"But I love her," John said, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. "And she loves me. Like no one has ever loved me before."

Harry gave him a knowing look, telling him that she knew that wasn't true.

"Perhaps you're right," John continued. "Perhaps I am letting myself get stepped on."

"It's more than that," Harry said sympathetically. "What she's doing should be considered abusive, and probably would be by everyone, except for you and Mum and Dad, apparently. Maybe you and Mary could go to therapy, or-"

"No," John said, cutting her off. "I've had enough therapy for a lifetime. I don't want anymore."

"Then you're going to have to figure this out on your own," she said. John lowered his head and continued to eat, saying nothing more.

 

"Well, it was nice seeing you," Harry said, hugging John and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "We have to see each other more often."

"Agreed," John said, smiling. "It was nice."

And after they had finished talking about Mary and John's multiple problems, it had been nice. They retold stories from their childhood and reminisced and laughed at stupid jokes and old memories. But now Harry had other things she needed to do, things that were too important to miss, even for her brother. So John took a cab back to Mary's house. Halfway there, however, John told the cabby to take him to Baker Street instead. He had a lot to think about now, after what he and Harry had talked about, and he didn't want to do that thinking at Mary's house. He knew he would find solitude at Baker Street, so that's where he went.

He arrived and opened the door to the dark flat. It was always dark; John never saw the point of turning on the light anymore. Sometimes, when he would come back to 221b, however, Mrs Hudson would be there. They would exchange friendly, superficial greetings, before she would scurry off to find work to do elsewhere. John and Mrs Hudson never really talked anymore. They had gone to the funeral together, but once John and Mary started dating, and especially when John moved in with her a few weeks later, Mrs Hudson became nothing more than John's landlady again. He wished it wasn't this way, but sometimes he thought it was for the best.

Except for today. Today, he wanted to talk to Mrs Hudson. He tracked her down and asked her to come back to 221b to talk. Though a bit confused, she agreed. John sat her down and told her the entire story of his and Mary's relationship, what had happened at John's parents' house the week before, and everything Harry had to say about it.

"Oh, John, dear," she said in the motherly tone that her voice always occupied. "It does sound like you and this Mary girl have had a bit of a domestic here and there. Perhaps your sister's right. Maybe you should take a step back and reevaluate your relationship. I know what abusive relationships are like, dear," she said, growing even more serious, "and it sounds to me like you've found yourself one."

John didn't argue with Mrs Hudson. He could never imagine arguing with Mrs Hudson about anything. So he just nodded and thanked her for her time and advice. She offered to make him tea and he didn't decline. They continued to chat, but both stayed away from the topic of abuse and focused on more positive topics, like things that didn't have to do with John's life. When he had finished his tea, he excused himself, saying he had to be back at Mary's house, and promising Mrs Hudson that he'd stay in touch. But before he left, she also made him promise that he would do something about the relationship issues he was having. He promised, and after a hug and a few more goodbyes, he hailed a cab and headed back to Mary's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you all know, I do look at every comment that this story receives, and sometimes I use those comments to inspire what happens next. So don't hesitate to leave a comment with either criticism or ideas on what you'd like to see happen next. This is a work in progress, so it can be changed very easily. I appreciate everyone who's reading this; thank you so much, it truly means a lot. Lots of love. <3


	7. Chapter 7

John kept his promise, and spoke to Mary.

"I just think...maybe we need to take a step back and reevaluate our relationship," John said, using Mrs Hudson's words.

"Why?" Mary asked, crossing her arms. "There's nothing wrong with us. We're fine."

John recounted what he and Harry had talked about. But he didn't dare utter the word "abuse." Instead, he chose kinder phrases, such as "being stepped on," and "taken over."

Mary began to say something, but started crying, as she always seemed to do during serious conversations. John took her in his arms and told her everything was going to be all right.

"We just have a few problems to work out, that's all. It's normal, every couple does," he said. "It's nothing we can't fix."

"I'm such a horrible girlfriend," Mary said, sniffling. "I don't want to lose you," she added, hugging him tightly.

"I don't want to lose you either, Mary," he responded.

"I know what you're saying. And I'm sorry. I guess I never realised." She sniffled again. "But it's not really my fault, you know."

John did not answer. He began to think back to what happened at his parents house when they went over to dinner, how Mary had put everything on him, as if everything bad in their relationship was caused by him.

"When I was a kid," she began explaining, wiping her eyes, "my dad abused me. Then he left my mother and I to fend for ourselves. My mother didn't even have a job, and I was only eight. My mother was never good to me, either; far too strict on me. God, I hate it so bad growing up."

She spoke as if it was the worst thing in the entire world. Of course, it was a horrible thing, but John could think of so many other things that could have been much worse than what Mary described. They had never talked about their past before; it had never come up in conversation. But John could hardly believe the excuse he was hearing. What came next was even worse.

"It's your fault, too, I suppose."

"What?" John asked, taking a step back, as if he had been offended.

"Well, you treat me so badly sometimes, you know. Not letting me cook, and-"

"Really, you're bringing that up again?" John asked, nearly yelling. "That's not even what I meant."

"I know exactly what you meant, John, and I think you're right; we need to evaluate our relationship because I don't like the way you're treating me."

It was as if Mary had completely recovered from her crying fit. And John wanted so badly to yell, to get everything off his chest. But he couldn't, not now. Now was not the time for that.

"Fine," John said after Mary went on for a few more moments about how badly John treated her. "I'm sorry, okay?" he retorted.

Hey stayed at Mary's that night, but insisted on sleeping on the couch.

 

The day after their fight, Mary apologised to John, saying she was sorry she yelled, and that she was just trying to be honest in the "oppressive environment that she had been forced in to." She said she was going shopping, and she wanted John to come with her. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

John hated shopping. He didn't mind shopping himself, but when he had to tag along with someone who was insistent on doing it all herself, it was like torture to him. He followed Mary down aisle after aisle, listening to whatever she had been babbling on about for the past hour, but having no time to respond. Occasionally he would throw in a "Yeah" or a head nod if it seemed appropriate.

He had been falling behind a bit when Mary stopped walking and became silent, turning around to face John.

"Well, hurry up, will you?" she asked, turning her attention to his leg. "I know it isn't slowing you down that much." Then she pointed to his cane. "Why did you bring that anyway? It's not like you actually need it. Your limp's only psychosomatic, remember?"

He had wanted to answer her, wanted to explain that his limp had been especially bothersome the past few days, and that even though his limp was psychosomatic, it was very real. He felt like he needed the cane if he were to do so much walking with Mary. But he never got the chance to respond.

"God, never mind. I guess it doesn't matter. I really wish you didn't bring it, though. It only slows you down. And I know your limp isn't that bad. Just keep up with me. I know you can do that."

John sighed deeply. There were a few other people in the area with them, and they had all heard Mary's minuscule rant. He was embarrassed, but more than anything, he was angry. One man shot him a sympathetic look, and John just glared back before moving forward again. If there was anything he hated, it was sympathy. He didn't need it. That was one reason he hated his cane. Without fail, it caused people to give him a nice, sympathetic look. And now he was surrounded by people giving him those looks because Mary had pointed it out. He was so frustrated. He wanted to yell at Mary then and there, embarrass her like she embarrassed him. But he remained silent, and listened to her continue talking as if nothing had happened. With effort, he managed t o keep up with her and stay by her side silently for the rest of the trip.


	8. Chapter 8

John came to the conclusion that he could no longer handle this anymore. After they got home from the store, he yelled at Mary, telling her all the things he had wanted to say but had been too nice to say in the past. It all came out now. He expected Mary to begin crying, as she did during every fight they had. Instead, she was stubborn, yelling right back at John, telling him off, almost listing everything that was wrong with John. The screaming lasted for ten minutes or so before John ended it by leaving, slamming Mary's door behind him.

He was angry. But more than anything, he was hurt. Hurt by so many things. He was a terrible boyfriend, and perhaps he did find himself in an abusive relationship, but he was too weak to do anything about it. He hailed a cab, his mind racing. He was done. He was done with being a horrible boyfriend and a terrible, weak person; he was done with having panic attacks and losing control of himself so often; he was done with missing what he could not bring back and done with flashbacks and nightmares and done with feeling all these things that he could not understand. It was so infuriating, and he was just ready to end it all.

John got out of the cab when it reached Baker Street. The cab ride had seemed longer than usual, but John assumed it was because he was becoming overwhelmed and his mind was racing. He was nearly choking back tears of frustration by the time he opened the door for what he knew to be the last time. John was scared, but this was the only solution he knew, the only one he saw. As he walked calmly up the stairs, he contemplated calling Harry, or Greg, or Mike, or any of the people he considered friends. But none of that mattered now, he told himself. They would find out soon enough, and goodbyes were hard enough for John. His mind began to wander to the gun he kept at the flat in case of emergencies. Was this an emergency? John assumed it was.

He thought of Mrs Hudson, how she would surely be somewhere in the flat, how she would probably be the one to call the police, if not discover the scene herself. Could John do that to Mrs Hudson? He tried to clear his mind of this thought; he didn't want thoughts like those running through his head, not right now. He opened the door to the flat, still holding on to the one silly shred of hope that things might be different this time.

They weren't. The flat was dark and empty, as it always was. John sighed, and with his last hope destroyed, he finalized his decision. He made his way through the sitting room, in to his bedroom. He silently retrieved the gun from its drawer, and walked back to the sitting room. He sat himself down in the chair that Sherlock used to sit in, and took in a deep, slow breath. This was it. His last moments. Oh, how sad and pathetic they were. This wasn't how he'd imagined himself going. But it wasn't as if this was the first time he attempted it. No, the first time was much more difficult. Somebody had called him moments before he pulled the trigger; it had just so happened to be Harry, and she was able to pull him out of his deep rut. But those moments -those moments that he thought would be his last- were much more meaningful than this. This was just sad.

Suddenly, he thought back to Mary, and about how he felt so bad for yelling at her now. He thought about calling her and apologising first, so she would know. And maybe he should tell Harry, too, and apologise for what he was about to do. But no, his mind was already set on this. He was going to do it, and it was now or never.

As he positioned the gun and rested his finger on the trigger, a noise came from the flat. He looked around, searching for the source of the sound, his hand frozen on the gun.


	9. Chapter 9

The noise was a voice, and it was like thunder, shaking John's entire body. The noise rumbled his name, followed by something more substantial.

"You wouldn't make Mrs Hudson clean this up, would you?" the voice asked. "It's rather selfish of you. All of this is."

John was absolutely fixed in place. He reocognised the voice; of course he did, how could he not? But how was he supposed to react? The source of the voice seemed like a paradox to John. He was supposed to be dead. John saw him die, with his own eyes. He had attended his funeral, visited his grave multiple times.

So when Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the shadows, John remained dumbfounded. He gently set the gun down on the floor. Momentarily, he thought about pointing the gun at Sherlock, considering he obviously was not real. This was just some clever hallucination that his brain had conjured up in his last hours, perhaps to make things less difficult.

"What are you doing here?" John asked, his voice hardly above a whisper. "You aren't real. You're dead."

"John, I know this may be difficult to explain, but-"

"You're supposed to be dead!" John yelled.

"I know," Sherlock answered, lowering his head. "I don't know how to explain it-"

"Don't explain anything," John said, struggling to keep his voice level. "You aren't real."

"I can assure you that I am very real, John" he answered, speaking softly.

John remained silent. He could not understand what was happening. He was tempted to pick up the gun again, to end it all and take this insane hallucination with him. But he left the gun where it lay and he stood up instead, slowly making his way towards the impossible being standing in the flat.

A few ideas ran through his head about what he could do. He could -no, perhaps he should- punch Sherlock in the face. After all, he had put John through so much, so much pain and struggle; he had been so depressed and nearly desperate for companionship after his best friend was gone. And what was it all for, nothing? None of it was even true; Sherlock was never dead? That was too much to take in.

Of course, he could also cry. Cry from relief, because Sherlock -his best friend in the entire world and the one he felt like he could never live without again- was actually alive, contrary to what John had believed for so many months.

Instead, John decided that it was best to make sure Sherlock was even real, to make sure he wasn't some creation of John's mind. Without another word, he grabbed Sherlock and pulled him into an enveloping hug, squeezing him tightly to make sure he was really there. He was. Oh, thank God, he really was. John hugged him tighter, if that was even possible, never wanting to let go.

A bit hesitantly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John.

'I...I'm sorry I had to lie to you for so long," he said quietly.

John pulled away reluctantly, and looked up at Sherlock curiously for a moment or two.

"Why _did_ you lie to me?" he asked.

"It was to protect you," he said. "Moriarty was threatening to kill you if I didn't kill myself first. It's quite a tedious story, and I'll get to it later," Sherlock continued. All he wanted right now was John back in his arms.

"Right, well all that matters is that you're here now," John said. He hugged Sherlock again, resting his face in the man's chest. They remained standing like this for a few moments, and John thought he could feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of his head.


	10. Chapter 10

The kiss -if one could even call it that- took John very much by surprise. It was very unlike Sherlock to show any sort of affection in any kind of way. So in John's mind, that begged the question: did it really even happen? Or was it just John's overactive imagination. That was more likely, he thought. But there were more important things to focus on, so he allowed his mind to drift elsewhere.

He could hardly understand what was happening. Sherlock was back. And Sherlock had essentially saved John from, well, himself. Maybe things would be different now. Better yet, maybe things would be the same as they had been before all of this happened.

He sat next to Sherlock on the couch, not wanting to leave his side for even a moment, afraid he might disappear again. Sherlock explained to John what happened, why he had to lie, how he pulled it off, and all of the details in between. John hung on his every word, and sometimes he had to remind himself to take a breath, or to stop staring, because that was rude.

After a few hours of talking, however, John began to feel a nagging, pulling feeling in his mind. Mary.

"Well, I should probably be getting back to Mary -er, my girlfriend's house. I live with her now, most of the time. But I'm sure you've somehow already figured all of that out." He let out a weak chuckle.

"Yes." There was an evident change in Sherlock's demeanor. Where he had been animated -well, as animated as Sherlock could be- before, he was now dull, and the tone of his voice just screamed _uninterested_. John gave him a concerned look.

"Everything all right then?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes, yes, fine," Sherlock answered, not looking at John, and instead focusing his attention to the dust that had gathered on the side table.

"All right," John said hesitantly. He did not want to go back home; he did not want to go and face Mary. He would much rather stay here, with Sherlock, but he knew Mary was already mad with him, so he should probably get going, and-

"You know about Mary, don't you?" he asked Sherlock, who finally returned his gaze towards John.

"What? Oh, yes. Not about the woman herself, but the abuse, yes."

"I don't know if I'd call it abuse," John started. "I don't treat her _that_ badly, I mean-"

"Yes, well, you best be going home now. Wouldn't want Mary to be upset with you if you were late."

There was something in Sherlock's voice that John just couldn't quite understand. But he gave Sherlock another confused glance before agreeing, saying goodbye, and -very reluctantly- leaving the flat.

 

John found it absolutely ridiculous that he would care about Mary at a time like this. A time of self-rejoicing, because Sherlock Holmes -his best friend- was back. John's thoughts should have been solely on Sherlock, and far away from Mary. At least, that seemed logical, didn't it? But he was afraid that he would upset her, because he didn't want to be a terrible person (like he had convinced himself he already was) and he was afraid of what Mary might do (because, let's face it, Mary was doing some of the abusing in the relationship, as well). That's when John realised what it all boiled down to: _he_ , John H. Watson, ex-army doctor and soldier on h is bad days, was afraid of Mary Morstan. Afraid of his own girlfriend, afraid of what she might do. John just shook these thoughts away with a shake of his head.

When he finally arrived home, he was met by Mary, who was in the kitchen, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked.

"Uh, it's nice to see you, too," John replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Where have you been?" she asked again. "I was expecting you home hours ago. Please don't tell me you were at that flat again. John, you know what it does to me when you go hide there."

John wanted to tell her why he went there, and his original purpose for going. But that didn't seem like a good idea at the time being. He also wanted to tell her about what he had found that made him stop everything. He figured that was safe enough.

"I was a t the flat, Mary," he admitted. "But something amazing happened." John could not keep his growing smile away.

"What are you talking about?" she asked impatiently.

"Sherlock. I saw him today. He isn't dead."

Mary's facial expression changed from one of confusion and irritation, to one of worry and concern.

"Oh, John," she said, standing up and walking towards him. She gently put a hand on his cheek. Momentarily, he was afraid that she might hit him again, but he willed himself not to flinch. Instead, she continued on. "Whatever you saw...it wasn't real."

"What?" John asked, about to protest until Mary cut him off.

"It was probably just a hallucination or something, perhaps caused by all the stress we've been under lately. But your friend, he's dead. There's nothing that can change that. You need to realise it."

John now felt that it had been a mistake to tell Mary about Sherlock originally. He had decided to tell her what happened after she scolded him for saying Sherlock's name in his sleep. If he hadn't told her the story then, she wouldn't be so determined to believe it wasn't real now.

"No, no. I...I saw him. I did," John said eagerly.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked. She took on the professional tone that was required in her field of work. "Are you absolutely positive that it wasn't just some image your mind made up?"

Yes. Well, maybe. He had kissed John. Hadn't he? So of course he was real. Or was he? John was beginning to feel doubt swirling in his mind. He definitely wasn't sure if Sherlock had kissed him or not, so he was unable to say for sure. It could have been his imagination playing tricks on him. Maybe he was subconsciously trying to save himself by conjuring up an image that he knew would stop him from doing it. Regardless, Sherlock had saved his life, whether he was real or not. That was all that mattered to John right now.

So he didn't give Mary an answer. She looked at him hard, her eyes narrowed.

"Exactly. John, as a psychiatrist, I'm suggesting that you get evaluated."

"Evaluated?"

"Yes. For schizophrenia or some other sort of mental unrest. It would explain the violence and the abusive tendencies, as well as the hallucinations.

_They weren't hallucinations_ , he'd wanted to say. But he remained silent.

"I don't need to be evaluated," John said, crossing his arms. "There's nothing wrong with me." He remembered Sherlock saying that, back in the Baskerville case, and that made him unreasonable happy, for whatever reason.

"Well, it's something to think about," Mary said. All her anger seemed to have dissipated. "Because this isn't healthy, hon."

John rolled his eyes. He was ninety-eight percent sure that he had not been hallucinating. But he could not tell for sure. None of it seemed realistic, anyway. John sighed as Mary changed the subject, talking about her day at work. John wasn't listening, instead focusing on how he was going to prove to himself that Sherlock wasn't just some fantastic illusion that John's mind had created.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, John decided to go back to 221b. He had no idea why he had left in the first place. It was obviously a mistake; all that came from going back to Mary was scolding and misjudgment.

On the way to the flat, he thought about what she had said. He didn't need to be evaluated; there was nothing wrong with him. But she had said that his life was an unhealthy one, and she was partially right. The abusive tendencies that he seemed to house were not healthy at all. Perhaps something needed to be done about that. But he refused to see another therapist; like he had told Harry, he'd had enough therapy to last him a lifetime, and he didn't need any more.

Before he had the chance to think on the subject any further, the cab stopped in front of the flat. Cautiously, he got out of the car and opened the door, making his way up the stairs. He found the door to 221b unlocked, and he pushed it open carefully.

"Ah, John, welcome back," a familiar voice called out. John couldn't help but smile.

[][][][][][][][]

"It isn't abuse," John said, sounding exasperated. While he didn't have a problem admitting to himself that it might well be abuse, he couldn't handle other people agreeing with him on the subject.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock answered simply. although he was obviously becoming frustrated. "Can't you see? It's obvious. She's manipulating you, John."

Now he was really upset. John was the one being abusive in the relationship, not Mary. She was not manipulating him in any way. If anything, he was manipulating her. But hearing Sherlock say it did something to John; it made him consider the fact that maybe she _was_ being a bit manipulative. He thought back to what she had said last night.

John could tell that Sherlock was getting angry, but he wouldn't let himself believe that Mary was manipulating him.

"No, _I'm_ the one manipulating _her_. I'm a horrible boyfriend, and just a horrible person in general. That's why I...well, that's why I was going to end it all. I just wanted it to end.

Sherlock stayed silent as he stared at John for a moment or two before looking away.

"Can't you see, John?" he asked, his voice a bit quieter now. "Can't you see what she's doing to you? That -everything you just said- is what she wants you to believe. None of it's true. You're a different person now because of her. I can see that, and I've never even met the woman."

"But you're also the world's only consulting detective, and you can see everything," John pointed out.

Then he was silent. He remained quiet for some time, and Sherlock sat and watched John, wondering what on earth the man was thinking.

"I want you to meet her," he finally said, breaking the tense silence that filled the flat. "That way you'll be able to see that she isn't the abusive one at all."

"I don't know if that's a wise decision, John," Sherlock replied.

"Please, Sherlock," John nearly begged. "For me?"

He remembered saying something similar when he thought Sherlock was dead, and that hit him in the stomach like a strong blow. He reminded himself that Sherlock wasn't dead -that he was very much alive, and right in front of him- and brushed the feeling off as best he could.

It was now Sherlock's turn to be silent again. He seemed to contemplate the idea of it, and John was nervous. But when Sherlock sighed, John knew it would be the answer he wanted to hear.

"Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is taking me so long. Real life keeps getting in the way of things. But thank you so much for being so patient, and for reading this in the first place. I appreciate every single one of you so, so much.


	12. Chapter 12

John wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he had asked Sherlock to meet Mary. But he was about to find out. He invited Sherlock over for dinner one night the following week. Mary rolled her eyes when John told her this, saying that she was sure John's "imaginary friend," as she got to calling Sherlock, would surely show up, though she did not really think so. She still thought that John ought to get a check up scheduled with a therapist or a psychologist of some sort.

But the day finally came, and John -who had begrudgingly been staying at Mary's a majority of the time, because he did not want her to be any more mad at him than she already seemed to be- was full of nerves. It was a mixture of excitement and anxiety, and he wasn't sure which was stronger. All of his nerves, however, seemed to explode when he heard a knock on the front door. He rushed to the door and opened it to meet Sherlock on the other side.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he said, smiling widely. Sherlock just mumbled in response, obviously not too glad about being there himself.

Mary had heard the knock on the door as well and made her way to the sitting room. She crossed her arms as John gave her a childish "see, I told you," look.

"So this is the mysterious Sherlock Holmes," she said, her tone sour. "Come back from the dead to make your grand entrance."

"Mary," John said sternly in warning. "This is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is my girlfriend, Mary."

"Pleasure," Mary said, though her voice indicated that it was far from the truth.

 

They quickly made their way to the dining room and sat around Mary's small kitchen table, passing around food that Mary had spent all day making, though she had been convinced it would just be her and John. But here was Sherlock, very much alive, and very much annoying Mary. Every time she looked at him, she grimaced. Sherlock remained quiet unless John spoke to him, and even then his answers were short. 

"So, John's been talking about you for weeks. Even talked about you in his sleep," she said, not looking up from her food. John could feel the tips of his ears begin to burn. Sherlock, who was not eating but rather picking and pushing at his food, looked up and stared at Mary.

"Interesting," was Sherlock's only response.

"I don't see what he sees in you, honestly," she said, finally looking up and meeting Sherlock's gaze.

"Mary," John said as a warning again. She ignored him.

"I was still in America when all of the drama with you went down, so I was never starstruck by your fame. I don't see why anyone else was, either. You seem extremely dull and...rather annoying."

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked, setting his fork down on the wooden table. "At least I know how to take care of him."

John knew Sherlock well enough to know that at this point, he was just trying to get under Mary's skin, even if what he said was nonsense. It worked. The comment sent Mary over the edge.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, but never gave Sherlock a chance to answer. "I've been taking care of him for years now, because he can't take care of himself. I'm the one who provides for him, gives him food and a roof over his head. I'm the one who listens t o him and his dumb ass opinions."

"Excuse me," John said, jumping in. "My dumb ass opinions?"

"You heard me," Mary said, crossing her arms and looking at John. He just stared at her, unsure of what to say. Then Sherlock jumped in.

"Just because you were abused as a child does not give you the right to abuse others, you know."

"How did you know about that?" she asked, looking at Sherlock and then back at John. "Did you tell him about that?"

John was still stuck on _dumb ass opinions_ and did not answer.

"He didn't have to tell me. It's rather obvious," Sherlock answered. Mary looked back at him, and it was obvious that she was far beyond angry.


	13. Chapter 13

Mary began yelling. Sherlock remained calm, and silent for the most part. When he finally could not hold back any longer, he began doing what he did best: explaining what the problem was. He told Mary that it was rather obvious that she had not only been abused, but that her father had also left, and her mother was not very caring, either. He told her that she thought she was better than most people because she had a high-paying job as a psychiatrist that gave her a power complex. Sherlock had more, so much more, that he wanted to say, but he was cut short by Mary's temper. She was offended by his words, however true they were, and in her anger she grabbed her empty wine glass and threw it at Sherlock's head. He ducked just in time to miss it, and the glass shattered on the wall behind him.

"Get out of my house!" she screamed, then looked over at John.

John, who would usually try to argue or at least try to calm Mary down, simply stood up and began to walk off.

"No, you stay," she demanded, standing up as well.

John felt like he had no other choice but to listen to her. He tried to convince Sherlock to stay, but without another word (and an apologetic look at John), he left the kitchen and then the house entirely. John stared at Mary through eyes squinted in anger.

"What the hell was that?" he asked. Mary, who had seated herself again and had seemed to calm down a bit, put her hand to her face.

"John, that was absolutely pathetic, is what it was."

"What are you talking about?" he began, but Mary cut him off.

"Sherlock is dead, John," she said, her voice sounding sympathetic now.

"What? But- but you just saw him, just now," John defended, his voice gaining volume.

"No, no I didn't. That was obviously some friend of yours, but not Sherlock. Perhaps you paid him, I don't know, but-"

"Mary, I-"

"Just stop, John. There's no point in arguing with me. You obviously told him all about me, my life, or he wouldn't have known all of that. Therefore, it's obvious that he's someone you've hired to do the job."

"No, that's just what he does!" John argued.

"Right," Mary said. "I don't know what's gotten into you, John, but this is too far. The fact that you've gone as far as hiring someone to convince me that your dead friend is really alive says something about you and your state of mind." There was a pause, and both were completely silent. John was staring at Mary, and Mary had her face in her hands. With a deep breath, she raised her head and looked back at him. "Listen, I'm going to prescribe you some medicine that should help with this...delirium. But you need help."

"I do not need help, and I sure as hell don't need any medications to help me. There's nothing wrong with me."

"John," Mary said sympathetically again, and she looked as if she were incredibly sad. "Please don't argue with me. As your psychiatrist, I know what's right for you, and this is what needs to happen."

"I'm not taking any medications," John said sternly. "I don't care what you say. I don't need it."

 

John stayed at Mary's that night, afraid of what Sherlock would have to say. This was ridiculous, John thought. He was always afraid of what someone thought these days. He really needed to step up and get over that. But it was much easier said than done. He lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He thought a lot about what happened, and about how upset and angry Sherlock must be with him. He thought about texting him, but then decided that would be a bad idea. Instead, he tried his best to sleep, and wished that he could just pray his problems away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these last few chapters have been a bit short. I've had a horrible case of writer's block lately. But I promise these short chapters will be made up for. Thank you so much for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Unfortunately, John didn't see Sherlock much after that. He just wanted to keep everyone happy, and Mary would throw a fit if he even mentioned his flat. The last thing he wanted was a fight. He could already feel the tension between Mary and Sherlock, and he didn't want to add to it, by any means. But one night, when Mary was gone away on some sort of business trip, John made a trip to 221B.

He expected Sherlock to be happy to see him, happy that he finally dropped by. But once he stepped into the flat he knew something was wrong.

"John," Sherlock said as a greeting. He was lying on the sofa, his eyes closed and his palms together.

"Hi," John answered timidly. "Is...is everything alright then?" 

He could nearly feel the tension in the air. Sherlock didn't answer for a long while, and John had to repeat his name several times to regain his attention.

"What? Oh, yes. Everything's just fine. Except for the fact that you can't see what's going on," Sherlock finally gave in way of an answer.

"What do you mean?" John asked, staying by the doorway.

"You know exactly what I mean."

John sighed. "I don't 'see what's going on' because there is nothing going on, Sherlock. Mary is not abusing me, and there's nothing wrong with her."

"Why do you keep defending her when she treats you so poorly? And everyone else, for that matter. She threw a glass at my head."

"Well, you were being a git," John said defensively.

"No, I really wasn't. I was being honest."

"Well sometimes honesty isn't the best policy."

"And why not?" Sherlock asked, half curious and half bothered.

"Just...just because, alright? It doesn't matter. I just want you to stop isisting that she's abusing me."

"Then you need to stop seeing her."

At this, John was silet. He had nothing to say. Walking over to Sherlock, he sighed, and demanded that Sherlock get up. Sherlock opened his eyes, but did not move.

"Get up, Sherlock," John demanded. He was not about to have this conversation with one participant not even paying attention.

Sherlock finally listened, standing up.

"Listen to me," John continued, slowly. "Mary is not abusing me."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"John, you are so oblivious. It is actually rather painful."

"Painful?" John asked angrily. He grit his teeth. "Alright, listen. What does any of this have to do with you anyway?"

"I thought we were friends, John," Sherlock said in a mocking offended tone. "And you did say that friends protect people, after all."

John was silenced once more. He watched Sherlock search his face.

"This is ridiculous" John sighed, resting his face in his hands.

But Sherlock took his wrists and moved the hands.

"You need to get out of this relationship," Sherlock said sternly. "It is tearing you apart. I've watched it go on long enough through Mycroft, and I'm not letting it go any further."

At this point, Sherlock's face was only inches from John's. There was an extremely tense quiet, and John wasn't sure what to do. He had nothing to say; he could hardly remember to breath. All he could think about was how close Sherlock was. And how he smelled so wonderful, a mixture of cologne and toothpaste. All he could think was, Sherlock. Alive. And only inches away.

Before he realised what he was doing, he leaned in, closing the small gap between them, and pressed his lips to Sherlock's a bit roughly. The lips underneath his were immediately unresponsive, and John pulled away as quickly as he had leaned in.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said hastily, looking away. He could feel his cheeks burning. "I don't know what I was thinking," he murmured, more to the floor than to Sherlock.

It seemed like ages before John built up the courage to lift his head back up. What he saw surprised him. Sherlock was not angry, like John had expected him to be. He seemed...confused, curious, and studious at the same time, examining John's flushed cheeks and bewildered expression.

John's body was far ahead of his mind, and once more without thinking, he leaned up to reach Sherlock's now distant lips with his own. He was taking a chance, a huge chance, but he simply could not resist trying. He assumed that Sherlock would get angry, yell at him for doing such stupid things. And God, was it stupid. But he didn't stop. Thankfully, John's assumptions were proven incorrect when the lips underneath his were no longer unresponsive. Sherlock began returning the kiss, and tilted his head like he did when he was confused by something. John took this as a cue to tilt his own head, making the kiss deeper.

It felt good, far better than it had any right to. There was a heat in the pit of John's stomach that began to expand. This was wrong. John wasn't gay. He constantly told people this. Yet here he was, kissing his best friend and former -or current?- flatmate. Straight men don't kiss other men, his brain told him. But he ignored it completely, instead focusing on the surprisingly soft lips that met his. He pulled back for a fraction of a second to look at Sherlock, to make sure that this was alright. His eyes were unreadable, as they often were to John. This was frustrating, which really should've deterred John from continuing. But it managed to have the opposite effect. It made him want more. More more _more_.

He forced himself to pull away once more, and Sherlock finally gave him something: a confused look, one that John interpreted into "why have you stopped?"

John nearly pushed him back onto the sofa. He straddled the man, and before Sherlock had time to protest, John was kissing him again. Sherlock's returning kisses told John that everything was alright. Good. Because he wasn't about to stop.

This was really happening. Holy shit, this was really happening. Not only was Sherlock truly alive -and obviously not just a trick that John's brain had conjured up- but here he was, underneath John, kissing and letting himself be kissed. He now thought of all the times he'd imagined what kissing Sherlock Holmes would be like. He always imagined it'd be good, but never this good.

John flicked his tongue at Sherlock's lips, asking permission to go further. Sherlock responded by parting his lips, and John was quickly exploring, tasting, basking in the warmth that was Sherlock. _Sherlock_.

John was surprised to the point of pulling back when Sherlock nipped at his tongue. He stayed away momentarily, afraid that he had done something wrong. But when he pulled away, Sherlock put his hand on the back of John's head and knotted his fingers in his hair, pulling him back in. He smiled against Sherlock's lips before continuing with hot, sloppy kisses. They were acting as if they were desperate; perhaps they were. John certainly knew that he felt that way.

A few moments later, it was Sherlock's turn to pull away. Before John could protest, Sherlock began pressing light kisses up John's jaw, down his neck. John let out a breathy sigh that was a borderline moan, but he didn't care. Sherlock's hands were on his back, his lips on his skin, everything was perfect. There was only one thing he could think of : Sherlock. Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock.

John loved the light kisses on his skin, imaged he could sit here all day and just let himself be kissed by Sherlock. But he was too eager to kiss him back, to show him this affection that was now bubbling up inside of John. When he had the chance, he reclaimed Sherlock's mouth, focusing his attention on the bottom lip. The heat in his stomach was rising, making its way up to his chest and throughout his entire body. His heart was racing at what seemed like impossible speeds, and he began to feel light-headed. But again, he did not care. For a moment he was afraid that he would never care about anything else in the world. How could life go on normally after something so fantastic and so frightening?

His chain of thoughts was broken by nimble fingers making their way under his jumper. Sherlock tugged at it, and John let him pull it off over his head. He did not object when Sherlock began working on the buttons of his shirt, either. The next thing he knew, his shirt was on the floor and Sherlock's cold hands were on his bare chest, his mouth on his lips. What he was feeling right now was so different than anything he'd ever experienced before. The heat was becoming almost excrutiatingly unbearable. There were so many things John wanted to do, but he didn't want to cross the line. This was exceedingly difficult, as he was not sure where the line even was. But he was going to find out how far he could go one way or another.

He pulled away, just far enough out of Sherlock's reach, and cupped his face in his hands. He looked into Sherlock's eyes for a few long seconds before going in for another kiss, this time more gentle, less rushed. They had all the time in the world now, so what was the point of rushing. Then John remembered: Mary. Oh, God. He pulled away quickly, this time with resolve.

"Sherlock, I can't," he began, sighing sadly. "Mary..."

"Forget about Mary," Sherlock said in a voice lower than usual.

"You know I can't do that." John began to move, to get up, but Sherlock stopped him.

"John, please," he said. There was something in his eyes that John had never seen before. Desperation? John wasn't sure. Regardless, he couldn't just leave Sherlock, leave this amazing feeling. He took a deep breath, then made his decision.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys. Sorry this has taken so long. Real life has just been getting in the way. But now that I have more free time, I'm back! So I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> (P.S.- I have no idea how long this story's going to end up being. It just keeps growing on me.)

"Fine. I'll stay," John answered, sighing. Then he scoffed. "This is ridiculous. I'm not gay."

Sherlock gave him a knowing look.

"I'm not! It's just...this is...different, somehow. But that's beside the point. I can't believe I'm doing this to Mary."

"John, how many times must I tell you? Mary is no good for you. You need to leave her," Sherlock said, still sitting on the sofa, looking up at John.

He felt so conflicted, so unsure of what to do. He had decided to stay the night at Baker Street, sure, but what about the rest of the week? Hell, the rest of his life. Did he dare leave Mary, as Sherlock continously suggested? Or did he stay with her, even though he could admit that she didn't treat him as he would like her to.  _Let's take it one day at a time, Watson,_ he told himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at Sherlock, and the heat began to rise again. Sherlock gave him a smile that told him 'we can always continue,' and John did not hesitate. He was on the detective's lap oce more, his face only inches away from Sherlock's. "I've got all night to make a decision, don't I?"

Sherlock nodded in respond, and John was snogging him senseless once more, letting hands roam freely where they might.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next morning, John woke up a bit disoriented. His body ached, and he didn't remember much of the night before. When he finally managed to get his eyes open, he looked around the room, and became even more confused. This wasn't his room, and this wasn't Mary's room.  _Oh. Right. Sherlock._ He rolled over, meeting Sherlock, looking as unconcerned as ever. John smiled at the sight of him sleeping; it was a sight he'd seen often, but would never get tired of.

At the sight of Sherlock, memories began flooding back to John. The snogging, the touching, the heat in John's stomach and chest. What else had happened though? It was in that moment of confusion and wonder that John Watson realised he was naked. He looked around frantically and saw his clothes folded neatly in the floor.  _Oh._ John remembered. He eventually led Sherlock into his room, and...well, things had escalated. But he didn't think Sherlock did that kind of thing. He never showed any regular interest in anyone, much less any sexual interest. Why was John the exception?  _Was_ John the exception? He swallowed hard and looked back over at Sherlock.

"Ah, John, you're awake," Sherlock said, as clear as day, snapping his eyes open. "Excellent."

John had so much to say, so many questions to ask. But all he could get out of his mouth was, "I thought you didn't...that you weren't...that you didn't do sex."

"And good morning to you, too," Sherlock responded, sitting up. John did the same. "Just because I show no interest in people does not mean that the interest is not there. Ordinary people simply bore me."

"So, I'm an exception then?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock gave him an odd look. "I suppose you could call yourself that, if you'd like."

John offered a small smile, but Sherlock's face remained blank and emotionless.

"So, this isn't...awkward, is it? For you, I mean," John asked, causing a reaction from Sherlock, who looked over at him.

"Awkward? Why on earth would it be awkward?" Sherlock inquired.

"No reason."

"Right. Well if it's awkward for you, then it's because you are making yourself feel awkward. There is nothing out of place or strange about the situation at all, lest you tell yourself that there is."

John wasn't sure how to respond, and silence momentarily filled the air. He looked around the room. It was still dark, and he had no idea what time it even was. But he supposed it didn't really matter. Not now.

"So, uh, you were...good, yeah," John finally said, pinpointing his attention to Sherlock's face. His eyes, however, couldn't help but wonder and scan over Sherlock's bare chest and stomach, waist and arms. It was quite a sight to take in.

"What?" Sherlock asked, and though his choice of wording made him seem confused, his tone of voice caused it to sound like a simple statement, as if he had no curiosity about the situation at all. Perhaps there was no curiosity on his part.

John cleared his throat before continuing. "Last night. When we...did what we did. You were good."

"We're both adults, John; we can call sex what it is. It doesn't alarm me, you know."

"Right. Sorry." He could feel his cheeks heating up, and he diverted his eyes once more.

 

After another bout of silence, John offered to turn on the kettle and make some tea.

"Oh, yes, that sounds lovely," Sherlock answered, sounding uninterested. John wondered if this was how Sherlock always was when he first woke up.

"Alright," John replied, getting up to grab his clothes.

"Oh, John, before you go," Sherlock started, but never finished.

John turned around to see what Sherlock needed, what he was going to say. But he was greeted with a soft kiss on the cheek. "You were good, too. Is that really what people say?"

"You really know how to ruin a moment, don't you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" John asked with a chuckle, nearly pushing Sherlock down onto the bed and crawling on top of him, covering him in playful pecks and kisses. John thought he saw a smile on Sherlock's lips, but he was too eager to kiss them to find out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning, these next few chapters are going to be pretty fluffy.


	16. Chapter 16

Mary was to be away on her business trip for at least three days, and five at the most. John had already spent two days at 221B. How much more could he risk before he was caught?

As he pulled himself out of Sherlock's bed after round two, he wrapped one of Sherlock's robes around his own body and made his way to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock sleeping in peace. He put the kettle on, and as he was rummaging through the fridge and the cabinets for food, he noticed his mobile sitting on the kitchen table.  _Oh, right, I have a life_ , John reminded himself unhappily. He picked up the phone and hesitantly turned it on. To his surprise, he only had three missed messages, and no missed calls. The messages were all from Mary.

[text] Tue. 3:45pm -  _How are things going honey? The business trip is going well, though I may need to stay here a bit longer than I originally planned. Text me back when you can. MM_

[text] Wed. 4:00pm -  _I was right, the business trip is being extended for another day. I'll be back on Saturday night. MM_

[text] Wed. 10:36pm -  _I'm so very sorry about everything that's been going on, John. We've both been under a lot of stress, and we've both made mistakes. I hope we can work things out when I get home. MM_

John sighed and rubbed his face, sitting the phone back down on the kitchen table. What was he going to do about Mary?

Before he had a chance to come up with any answers for his own mental question, Sherlock came into the kitchen, wrapped up in a sheet.

"She's texted you," he said, coming up behind John and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," John said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She's apologised about what happened."

"Are you going to accept that apology then?" Sherlock asked, moving to sit in one of the wooden chairs.

"I don't know," John answered after a few moments of silent contemplation. "I feel like I should, but...I mean, everyone deserves a second chance, right?"

Sherlock sighed. "John, you've given her enough 'second chances.' It's time to face the truth of the matter."

"Oh, the truth?" John scoffed. "Which is what? Please, enlighten me."

"This is how she is. This is how she'll always be. She isn't going to change."

"I've known her for a while now," John said, "and she hasn't always been like this, I promise you that."

"Well that's because when she first met you, she wanted to impress you. She did all she could to make you herself look good enough for you to consider. Now that she has you ensnared, she isn't as worried about putting up a facade to make you like her. She knows that you love her, and that you'll accept her however she is. That is, of course, a human error -love. But it's true with you two."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment. "First off,  _ensnared?_ She does not have me  _ensnared._ But you're right -I do love her. Hopelessly, it seems. What am I going to do?" John groaned, sitting down in the chair next to Sherlock.

"I can't make that decision for you," Sherlock answered.

"Thanks, but it was a rhetorical question," John snapped back.

Sherlock got up to get the kettle, and made tea for the both of them. He handed John a hot mug, who took it gratefully.

"So, a business trip?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly as he sipped from his own mug.

John nodded, not paying much attention at all. "She said it was to be extended, so she won't be back until Saturday night. You don't...mind if I stay here until then, do you?" John asked, looking over at Sherlock.

"Why would I mind if you stayed in your own flat?" he responded, not looking at John.

John smiled and chuckled a bit, looking down at his mug.

~~~

[text] Thur. 11:09am -  _I'm staying with a friend until you return from your business trip. So don't be surprised if I'm not home when you get back. JW_

[text] Thur. 11:25am -  _Also, I accept your apology. JW_

John sighed as he set the phone on his leg, reclining a bit in his seat. Sherlock was typing away on his laptop, doing some sort of research for a case John wasn't even aware he had. He, on the other hand, proved to be no help to Sherlock, and was absent-mindedly watching something on the telly, a program about how to cook the perfect meal for the lover in your life. John rolled his eyes and began to think about Mary, wondering how she was doing on her business trip, and he tried to ignore the guilt that was boiling up inside him.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can help you with?" John asked Sherlock, standing up and shoving his phone in his pocket.

"No, you'll just get in the way," Sherlock answered, not taking his eyes off of the laptop's screen.

"All right," John answered, letting out a long breath. "So, Sherlock?" he asked hesitantly a moment later.

"Hmm?" Sherlock responded, and continued typing.

"I...What I -er, we- did...Well, uh..."

"Get to the point, Watson," Sherlock said, and he couldn't tell if Sherlock was annoyed or if he was trying to be funny.

"I cheated on Mary, didn't I? With you?" John finally spit out, inhaling sharply a moment later.

"Hardly cheating," Sherlock answered, finally closing out of whatever he was doing and shutting the laptop, setting it aside as he stood up.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it was simply a one-time occurrence. Cheating infers that you continuously see the other person, does it not?"

"Oh. So...so that's what this is, then?" John asked, trying to hide the slight disappointment in his voice. "A one-time thing?"

"Well, that's all you want, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, taking a step towards John. "A one-time fling, as you've so generously called it before. All I am to you is a friend, and all I was to you last night -and this morning- was an outlet for your frustration. Am I incorrect?" He tilted his head a bit.

"Yes, you are. Incorrect, I mean."

Sherlock's bros furrowed at this.

"I have...feelings, and...what happened last night wasn't just a way to get my anger out, Sherlock. It meant something. For me, at least. I thought your brilliant mind could deduce that."

"So you're saying..." He let his sentence trail off, showing his lack of understanding at John's statement.

"What I'm saying is pointless," John said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just forget I ever said anything, all right?"

"But-"

"Just forget it."

Before Sherlock had the chance to say anything else, John made his way into the kitchen.

 

Leaning on the kitchen counter, John pulled out his mobile again to check the time. To his surprise, he had a message.

[text] Thur. 2:34pm -  _Thank you, John, for giving me another chance. Maybe when I get home we can take a vacation somewhere and sort things out. MM_

He was surprised that she had not asked whose house he was staying at, or why he was staying there in the first place. But he brushed it off, set his phone on the kitchen table, and made his way up to his room.


	17. Chapter 17

John had just closed his door when a light knock came from the other side.

"Yes?" John asked, more annoyed than curious at this point.

Sherlock opened the door and stood there silently, looking rather exquisite, John could not help but notice, as he leaned against the frame of the door. The pleasing sight, however, was ruined after a few moments, when Sherlock said nothing.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" he asked, more demanding this time.

"I'm...confused," Sherlock answered simply, looking over John, observing him and surely deducing something by the way he was standing or the stains on his jumper.

"You, confused?" he asked, scoffing. "You're a bloody genius, what the hell are you confused about?"

No answer came from Sherlock; he simply leaned in the door frame and crossed his arms. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked to the patterns on the floor, as if searching for an answer there.

"Sherlock." John's anger was beginning to build in his chest.

"This...what would you call it? You, and I, and the sex we had. I'm confused."

"Confused by what, exactly?" John asked, the anger cooling off and being replaced by pure curiosity.

"You have Mary. You've made it quite  clear that, even though it's a poor decision, that you are going to stay with her. Yet you obviously enjoyed what happened last night, enough to be in some sort of disbelief when I mentioned it being a one-time occurrence."

"So you're confused because I'm wanting to stay loyal to Mary but disappointed that you thought what happened was a one-time thing," John stated. Sherlock nodded, and John chuckled wryly. "It's complicated, Sherlock-"

"Most human emotions are, from what I understand, and-"

"Just shut up for one moment, will you?" John asked quietly, chuckling a bit. He took a few steps towards Sherlock. "Emotions aren't that difficult, you know. It's just...I don't think you understand how they work."

"I'm not a robot, John," Sherlock answered sharply. "I am very aware of how emotions work."

John shook his head. "No, I know, I know. It's just- what happened last night was amazing. And I want to do it -to experience it- again. But then there's Mary; I can't do that to her. I know she treats me terribly, I can see that. I just refuse to acknowledge it sometimes, because I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" Sherlock asked, clearly confused. "John, you shouldn't be afraid of her. She's-"

"I'm not afraid of her," John retorted, shaking his head. "I'm afraid of...of being...alone...again."

"John," Sherlock said, and it was his turn to smirk a bit and scoff slightly.

Nothing more came from Sherlock's mouth, and this confused John. Brows furrowing, he crossed his arms. "What?" he asked defensively.

"You are not alone. And you won't be alone if you finally leave Mary, either."

John simply stared at Sherlock for a moment, unsure of where this was going.

"I'd be lost without my blogger," Sherlock finally said, taking a step towards John to close the gap between them. He cautiously put one hand on John's cheek, and John felt his cheeks flush pink. Sherlock quickly moved his hand, however, and John rose his eyes to meet Sherlock's.

"How can you say that, after you left me for two years. Two years, Sherlock, I was alone. Without you."

"I know," Sherlock said. "But that was to protect you. Things are safe now, and there is no need for such protection."

John stared at Sherlock for a few long, dragging minutes, and Sherlock just looked right back at John. When John remained silent, Sherlock leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on John's forehead.


	18. AUTHOR ANNOUNCEMENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't an actual chapter, just a SUPER EXCITING announcement from the author. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So I know you have been so patient with me through this, and I am so thankful and grateful for that. I really appreciate your support and all of the kind comments you have sent me way.
> 
> Because this has been a work in progress for nearly three years now, I am thinking about removing it from the site.  
> HOWEVER, I am currently "rewriting it" (i.e., touching up grammar and style and such), and I will be including an actual end to the story as well (I know, something that has been a long time coming). I hate to leave things like this open, but I just became so overwhelmed with things in my life that I couldn't continue on with this. Now I want to, and I am going to, and I will be posting chapters weekly or bi-weekly, depending on what time I have to upload it.
> 
> So once again I just wanted to thank you all so much for the support, and even though this will eventually be deleted, I am definitely not throwing away the story, and it will be republished in a new-and-improved fashion. I absolutely promise you that!
> 
> I hope to see you back and enjoying it when the shiny, squeaky clean new version is published! :)
> 
> X,  
> jawnlovesjumpers

Sorry guys! No actual chapter, only a SUPER EXCITING announcement from the author about the republication of this fic!


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